


a shot in the dark

by soulgraves



Series: no place i'd rather be [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Meetings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-26
Updated: 2014-11-26
Packaged: 2018-02-27 03:00:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2676509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulgraves/pseuds/soulgraves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Blaine trip over each other at a gig.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a shot in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> There was an "imagine your OTP meeting when…" post going around Tumblr a while back and one of the options was "tripping over each other at a concert." So this is that fic, but also an AU where McKinley don't have a glee club (but everyone knows each other anyway) and the first in a (bound to be) ridiculously fluffy 'verse of short fics.

Sam’s _bored_. Puck had dragged him along and then abandoned him two songs into the support band’s set when some girl with purple highlights and a lip ring had beckoned him over to the bar, so now Sam’s left listening to some pretty sub-standard music alone. He really wishes he’d stayed home with Finn playing Halo, but hindsight’s twenty-twenty and also Finn’s a dick for laughing when Puck invited them and then not warning Sam away. 

At least his fake ID’s getting some use; he’s just started on his third beer when a space by the back wall frees up, forcing his way through the crowd and not feeling too bad when he slips in right before a couple obviously looking for a convenient make out spot. The band hasn’t improved with alcohol; their drummer and keyboardist are possibly playing entirely different songs, now he thinks about it, which isn’t even the worst of their problems given the singer sounds like an asthmatic who smoked half a pack before getting onstage. 

There’s an ache behind his right eye and he still has a ton of homework to fight his way through, but Puck’s his ride and he has no idea where he’s disappeared to so for now it’s him and his beer, and the floor’s probably new levels of gross but it’s also _right there_ , so he slides down the wall, spreading his legs out as far in front of him as he dares.

There are half a dozen texts from Kurt on his phone criticizing the content of his closet, and Sam would be annoyed at the lack of privacy but he’s been living there long enough to know it’s no good. Besides, he has a stash of t-shirts in a bag under his bed just in case Kurt decides he needs an intervention. He sends back _don’t touch anything my mom got me_ and then shoots off a picture of his torn-up sneakers just to imagine the look on Kurt’s face.

It’s probably mostly his fault for not paying attention (and, you know, sitting on the floor in a dark room) when someone trips over his legs.

“Shit,” Sam says, reaching out to try and help the guy get his balance. “I’m so sorry, dude.”

“No, it’s--” the guy stutters. “It’s my fault, I didn’t see you.”

Sam’s eyes adjust just enough to the light to be able to make out the guy’s outfit, and okay, he hadn’t known they made jeans that tight, and also who knew bowties were _actually_ cool? The guy ducks his head, and Sam realizes he’s staring.

“I like your bowtie,” he says, because apparently three beers are enough to completely get rid of his brain to mouth filter.

“Oh,” the guy says, eyes narrowed slightly like he’s trying to work out if Sam’s kidding. Apparently Sam passes the test though because when he smiles it’s blinding. “Thanks!”

There’s a long pause, and Sam tries to think of something else to say, settling on, “Uh, do you like the band?”

The guy looks unsure for a moment before he shrugs. “No? They’re-- Well, they’re pretty awful.”

Sam laughs and pats the spot on the floor next to him. “Dude, _so_ awful. You’re totally welcome to come hide out with me if you want.”

He’s not even sure why he says it, except he’s a little buzzed and really bored, and it’ll be nice to have someone around to distract him from the god-awful sounds coming from up onstage. The guy looks surprised, glancing over his shoulder, and Sam hadn’t even thought about the fact that he’s probably not here alone; he’s about to wave it off, when the guy shrugs and comes closer, sliding down the wall the same way Sam had, and looking kind of unnerved as he sits cross-legged next to him, their bodies pressed close down one side so they both fit.

“I’m Sam,” he says, and grins when the guy holds out his hand and says, “Blaine.”

There’s a cheer as someone starts a mosh pit at the front of the room and everyone surges forwards enough to give Sam and Blaine a bit more space to breathe. Sam takes another sip of his beer and then automatically passes it to Blaine who smiles but shakes his head.

“Designated driver,” he says, leaning close so Sam can hear him, and Sam nods.

“Cool. Mine’s vanished. At this rate I’ll probably end up walking back to Lima,” he says, and Blaine laughs because he doesn’t know Puck and that there’s, like, an eighty-percent chance Sam actually _will_ have to; he has a great laugh though, and Sam can’t help but join in.

When a girl wearing an _Aim To Misbehave_ t-shirt walks by they start talking about the top ten sci-fi shows of all time, and Blaine may be _completely wrong_ about some things but Sam can appreciate a guy who sees the merits of _Deep Space 9_. That leads them on to rebooted franchises and comic book movies and comic _books_ , and by the time Sam stops to take a breath he has two missed calls and a handful of texts from Puck asking where the hell he is.

“That’s my ride,” he says apologetically when Blaine raises a questioning eyebrow. “Apparently he struck out.”

“You don’t sound surprised,” Blaine says, leaning his head back against the wall.

Sam shrugs. “Dude’s a self-proclaimed ‘chick magnet’ but I think he was in over his head here. Don’t tell him I said that.”

Blaine smiles, and up this close Sam can see the flecks of gold in his eyes. “Do you need to leave?” Blaine asks, and Sam knows he should before Puck gets distracted again and forgets him, but he can’t actually bring himself to get up. 

“Nah,” he says, and pretends he’s not tilting a little more to the side. “He abandoned me as soon as we got here, he can wait.”

His phone buzzes again, and he rolls his eyes as he checks it, but it’s only a picture message from Kurt of the inside of his closet, now arranged by outfit and color, and Sam huffs out a laugh as Blaine leans closer, amused and intrigued. 

“My friend,” Sam explains. “I’m living with his family right now and he’s kind of a fashion junkie. Apparently all my plaid shirts are offensive to his eyes or whatever.”

“Are you and he--?” Blaine starts, and then shakes his head at Sam’s confused look. “Nothing, never mind.”

“No, what were you gonna say, dude?” Sam asks, noticing the way the tops of Blaine’s cheeks darken as he ducks his head.

“Are you and he together?” Blaine says quickly, and Sam blinks in surprise.

“Me and _Kurt?_ No. Yeah, no. He’s an awesome guy, but.”

“Right, sorry,” Blaine says, waving it off and turning to face the stage; Sam’s suddenly aware of the extra inch between them where he’s moved away, just a little, and catches himself frowning. 

It’s only now that Blaine’s put it in his head that Sam realizes exactly how this evening must have seemed; it totally must have sounded like Sam was hitting on him from, like, the moment Blaine tripped over his legs, and that wasn’t his intention _at all_ , except--

Except it also wasn’t _not_. 

Before he has the chance to think about it too much, he says, “Do you maybe wanna go see a movie or something? Uh, with me?” and bites the inside of his lip as Blaine’s eyes go wide.

“Yes?” Blaine says, and then more firmly, “Yes, I’d like that.”

“Awesome,” Sam says, and the fact he means it is as much a surprise to him as anyone. “Give me your phone so we can swap numbers.”

Blaine hands over his cell and Sam takes a moment to admire his awesome Nightwing wallpaper before programming himself in, letting Blaine do the same. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he’s asked out girls before and this is exactly the same except that Blaine is a _boy_ and also probably way out of his league, if he’s being honest with himself.

“Uh, weekends are best,” Blaine says, cutting off Sam’s preemptive worrying. “I go to boarding school, so--”

“Cool,” Sam says, and wonders if that means Blaine wears a uniform. It’s an interesting thought. “Saturday it is. Is _this_ Saturday too soon?”

“No,” Blaine says quickly. “This Saturday’s great.”

“Okay,” Sam says, grinning at Blaine’s enthusiasm and knowing it’s probably a mirror of his own. He’s really glad none of his friends are here; they’d never let him live it down. 

He’s about to ask Blaine if he has any movie preferences, what theater’s best for him, anything to keep the conversation going, when a shadow blocks out what little light they have and Sam looks up to find two guys supporting a very drunk looking third and eyeing Blaine with amusement.

“Yo, Anderson,” one says, “sorry to break up the party but Jeff’s about to pass out and I really don’t want him throwing up on my converse _again_.”

“That was _one time_ ,” the guy who’s presumably Jeff mumbles, and the third guy laughs.

“Right,” Blaine says, blinking up at them. “Sure, okay. Yeah. Uh, do you guys want to head for the car? I’ll be, like, two minutes.”

“Sure,” guy one says, and Sam doesn’t react when he throws him a wink.

“Ignore Thad,” Blaine says when they’re gone, stumbling through the crowd towards the exit. “His favorite hobby’s embarrassing his friends.”

“No worries,” Sam says, because, _hey_ , his friends would have been at least ten times worse and probably sent Blaine backing away in horror. “I should find Puck anyway. I’ll, uh, see you Saturday?”

“Yes,” Blaine says, and the blush is back in full force. Sam really kinda likes it. “It was nice meeting you, Sam.”

“You too,” Sam says, and picks up his empty beer bottle before he does something dorky like try and shake Blaine’s hand. Blaine just throws him a small wave and follows after his friends, glancing back the once, and Sam doesn’t move until he can’t see him anymore through the crowd.

He…has no idea what he’s doing. When he’d left the Hudmel house earlier he’d expected to return with a rejected Puck and a probable hangover come morning; instead he’s going home with a rejected Puck and a _date with a boy he just met_. He’s pretty sure everything should be spinning and there should be light bulbs over his head or a choir of angels or something, but besides a couple of butterflies that seem to have hatched in his stomach and his heart beating pretty fast, he feels fine. Totally normal. Which is weird but it’s better than the world ending or whatever so he’s gonna roll with it. 

“There you are, bro! I’ve been looking for you for ages, what the fuck?” Puck says, when Sam finally wanders back over to the bar, and Sam shrugs and smirks and doesn’t say anything about the girl with the purple highlights now making out with a girl in a flowery dress.

“Wanna head out?” he says instead, and Puck shrugs but digs his keys out of his jeans and heads for the car park.

“Where were you, anyway?” Puck says when they’re outside. “Did you hook up?”

“No,” Sam laughs, clutching his cell phone and wondering how soon is too soon to text someone. “Some of us aren’t club bathroom kinda guys.”

“Hey, screw you,” Puck grins, “I’m cool with a good, old-fashioned janitor’s closet, too.” He stares a Sam for a moment and then laughs. “Even better: you met someone you _like_.”

“Maybe,” Sam says, and knows he’s about to get a whole journey’s worth of annoying questions he has no intention of answering, but it’s totally worth it when his phone vibrates with a new text.

_I had a lot of fun tonight even though the music sucked. Looking forward to next weekend already! ☺ B._

Sam grins like an idiot, still not freaking out, and doesn’t even complain when Puck changes the station halfway through a country song.


End file.
